by Bobbi Holmes
“Well, I’ll confess. I hired someone to clean the house today.”
Kitty grinned. “I’m flattered. For me?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I didn’t want you going back home and telling the rest of the family what a slob I am.”
Kitty laughed. “Oh, I would never do that. I haven’t forgotten that blood pact we made when we were ten.”
Brian glanced at his wrist. “Yeah, I still have the scar. We weren’t very bright, were we?”
Kitty laughed again. “We did some stupid stuff. But we sure had fun.”
It was Brian’s turn to salute Kitty with his drink. “We did.”
“So, tell me, this housekeeper of yours. Did you break down and hire someone who comes in regularly, or was it just because I was coming?”
“It was for your visit, but I am tempted to have her come in regularly.”
“You should. I do now. I so don’t miss cleaning my house. Where did you find her? A local service?”
“She worked full time for Marlow House. It used to be a bed-and-breakfast. But they closed the business, and Joanne—that’s the housekeeper—they cut her hours. So she’s taking on new jobs.”
“Marlow House? Isn’t that the place owned by the crazy woman you told me about?” Kitty asked.
Brian frowned. “Crazy woman?”
“Yeah, the one who inherited the house, and you thought she had something to do with her cousin’s murder.”
“Well, yeah, I did at the time.”
“Didn’t you think she killed that other guy too? I remember reading something about it after you told me.”
“I guess my view on Danielle has changed since we last talked about her. I consider her a friend now.”
“Really?” She arched her brows. “More than a friend? From what I recall, she was single.”
“No. Nothing along those lines. In fact, she has since married.” Brian then went on to tell his cousin the condensed version of Danielle and Walt in Frederickport, leaving out his unexplained encounters with the pair. While doing so, he had another drink and began feeling less inhibited than normal.
When he finished, she asked, “And he never got his memory back?”
“No. Can I tell you something, Kitty?” Brian asked, his tone serious.
“Of course, anything.”
“There is something strange about Marlow House.”
“You’ve told me that before.”
He shook his head. “No, not like that. I mean strange in a different way.”
“How so?”
“Ever since Danielle moved to Frederickport and Marlow House was again open to the public, there seems to be one strange thing after another happening over there.”
“Strange how?”
His gaze met Kitty’s. “Like Marlow House is haunted.”
Brian’s comment surprised his cousin, who then choked on her drink and ended up spitting out a bit. She quickly grabbed a tissue, dabbed her mouth, and regained her composure. “Haunted? What do you mean?”
“Let’s see if I can remember all the strange things that have happened over there.” Brian leaned back in his chair, drink in hand, and crossed one leg over its opposing knee. “The first unexplained incident I can recall is when we tried to arrest Danielle for Stoddard Gusarov’s murder. Lily, that’s her best friend, was living with her back then. Danielle wasn’t home. Lily was walking away from me and I grabbed her arm—I know I shouldn’t have touched her—but then the next thing I know, I’m flying across the room like someone just sucker punched me.”
“This Lily, she slugged you?”
Brian shook his head. “No. Lily didn’t hit me. The punch came out of thin air. I fell on my ass. The next time something strange happened was when the gun went flying.”
“Gun?” Kitty asked.
“The people responsible for Stoddard’s death had Danielle at gunpoint. And that gun flew out of his hand—like some invisible hand grabbed it. It landed on the roof. But it wasn’t the first or last time something like that happened at Marlow House. There always seems to be an unseen force that protects Danielle and her friends.”
“There has to be an explanation,” she insisted.
“There are just so many things that have happened over the last few years. Each time I convince myself there is a logical explanation. But then the fingerprints…”
“Fingerprints?”
“Danielle’s husband, Walt, used to be a real estate agent in California. But when we checked his fingerprints against the prints the California real estate department had on him, they didn’t match.”
“Obviously some error on the side of the real estate department’s records department.”
“But they matched Walt Marlow’s prints.”
Kitty frowned. “Yes, so? He is Walt Marlow.”
“No. I’m talking about the original Walt Marlow, his distant cousin. The one murdered in that house almost a hundred years ago. The one who looks just like the Walt Marlow living there now. Not only do they share the same face, the same name, they also share the same fingerprints.”
“That is impossible. There has to be a logical explanation.”
“And his signature. The two men have the same signature, the same handwriting. I’ve found samples of the original Walt Marlow’s handwriting. It’s identical to Danielle’s husband’s.”
“Someone is gaslighting you, Brian. Can’t you see that?”
“And then today.”
“What about today?”
Brian told her what he had witnessed in the living room at Marlow House.
“Did you ask them about it?” Kitty asked.
“Yes. They claimed it was a magic trick involving wires. But when I left the house, I looked in the living room, and there was nothing attached to the ceiling. Nothing in the room that could have lifted Danielle and that broom off the floor. Minutes after I saw Danielle flying around that room, I was in the parlor with both of them. How could they have removed whatever they were using that quickly?”
Kitty considered the question for a minute. Finally, she said, “How long were you with them both before you checked the living room?”
“I don’t know. Twenty, thirty minutes maybe.”
“How do you know there was not someone else in the house with you, someone who removed all evidence of the trick while you were talking to them?”
Brian frowned. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have helped them with the trick?”
“Yeah. Lily and Ian live across the street. Lily is her best friend. And Heather lives a couple of doors down, and Chris, he lives down the street. They’re all close.”
“See. You have your answer. I seriously doubt Marlow House is haunted. And what, do you think Danielle’s husband is really a ghost?”
“No. I don’t think that.”
“Then what?”
Brian shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s just something about that place.”
Six
Only the eldest daughter of a blood witch could cast the spell. According to the book, the ideal time was during the waning gibbous phase of the moon, preferably five days after the last full moon. Bridget Parker hadn’t told her sisters what she intended to do. Even if the spell worked and they found another blood witch to sacrifice, it might prove unnecessary. Yet, if Bridget missed this opportunity, she would have to wait another month before trying.
Her sisters had already taken their showers and now sat in the living room, watching a movie. Still dressed in the blood-red kaftan she had put on that morning; Bridget had no intention of taking her shower yet. She had a spell to cast. Slipping down the hallway, she peeked into the living room, wanting to make sure her sisters remained occupied. She was in no mood for their questions.
Confident the movie had her sisters’ full attention; Bridget made her way to the den. She shut the door after entering the room and walked to the wall safe. Several minutes later she had the safe open. Bri
dget reverently removed the worn leather-bound book from inside. She took the book with her to the desk and sat down, placing it before her.
Lovingly, she ran her hand over its front cover, letting her fingertips trace the engraving of a pentacle—a five-pointed star within a circle. Slowly moving her fingertips over each point of the star, she thought of the element each one represented: spirit, water, fire, earth and air.
After a moment she gently patted the cover with her right palm and then opened the book, turning to the spell she intended to use after her sisters went to bed. She wanted to read it one more time to make sure she remembered everything.
“The Spell of Attraction,” she read aloud and then chuckled. When she had first read the spell’s name months earlier, she had falsely assumed it was a love spell—something used to get an unrequited love to take notice. Yet it was nothing like that. According to its description, it could bring something into a blood witch’s immediate world, but once there, it didn’t mean the person—or thing—you conjured would behave how you wanted. It only afforded you access to whatever you conjured.
This evening Bridget intended to use the spell to bring an object and another blood witch to her. The object, a high-quality ruby, three carats or larger, which she needed for a future spell. She needed the blood witch to try the spell out on before using the spell again on the intended target.
According to the instructions, she had to do this herself—alone—under the moon, preferably the fifth night after a full moon, over saltwater. That meant on a boat on the ocean—or a pier. They didn’t have a boat, but Frederickport Pier was just a short walk down the street.
Not anyone could perform this spell. It had to be the first daughter of a blood witch. Her mother had been a blood witch, as had all the women in her family, for over four centuries.
She couldn’t take the book with her to the pier, it was far too heavy, and if one of her sisters saw her leaving the house with it, they would force her to answer their questions. Opening a desk drawer, she removed a pen and piece of paper and began jotting down the words she would need to recite when casting the spell.
Several hours later, her sisters came into the den and found Bridget reading a book. Not the spell book; she had returned that to the safe. Bridget told them goodnight and said she planned to read some more before going to bed. They didn’t question her words and said goodnight.
An hour later Bridget slipped a jacket on over her kaftan. She wanted the jacket as much for its large pockets as for its warmth. The last time she looked, the evening temperature had dipped below sixty. She had already collected what she needed: candles, matches, a baggie of soil, and a slip of paper with the spell written on it, and her cellphone. After shoving all the items in her jacket pockets, she quietly left her house and began walking alone to the pier.
Overhead, the moon lit her way. When she arrived at the pier fifteen minutes later, no one was around, not even anyone fishing along the pier’s edge. The ice cream shop had been closed for hours, but Pier Café remained open.
Standing by the entrance to Pier Café, she looked down the lonely pier and smiled. There, at the far end, a beam of moonlight illuminated a portion of the pier walkway. Determined, she headed for that spot. When she arrived, she sat down cross-legged, paying little concern to the nearby fish guts and other disgusting bits attached to the worn wooden planked walkway. Removing the items from her pockets, she arranged them around her.
Adam Nichols had a sudden craving for apple pie. There was only one place in Frederickport where he could get a slice at this time of night, and that was at Pier Café. It was late when he arrived at the pier, yet he expected to see a few fishermen. After all, it was still summer. As he approached the restaurant, he looked down the pier and didn’t see a single angler, yet there was someone on the pier.
When he arrived at the door to Pier Café, instead of entering he stood there a moment and looked out at the person sitting alone in the moonlight. It was a woman, with long red hair, and she sat cross-legged on the pier, with her arms outstretched to the night sky, while she looked up to the moon and began shouting.
“What in the world?” Adam muttered, still watching the odd sight. The woman stopped baying at the moon and then picked up what looked like a small baggie. She pulled something from the bag and began tossing it in the air while resuming her baying. What she tossed, he had no idea.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Adam walked into the diner.
“Evening, Adam,” Carla the server greeted him immediately. The first thing Adam noticed, Carla’s hair was still purple, as it had been last week. The second thing he noticed, there was only one occupied booth; it looked like a couple of fishermen who were packing it up for the night.
“Evening, Carla. Wow, you’re dead tonight. Hope you have apple pie,” Adam said.
“You should have been here earlier. We got slammed.”
Adam groaned. “Don’t tell me that means you ran out of apple pie?”
Carla grinned. “I’m pretty sure there are a couple of pieces left.”
Adam nodded to the door he had just entered and then asked, “Any idea who the weirdo is sitting out on the pier?”
Carla brushed by Adam, opened the door, and looked outside. It took her just a moment to find the subject of Adam’s inquiry. “Aww, that’s one of the Parker sisters. Don’t know which one. Can’t really tell them apart.”
“Any idea why she’s sitting on the pier, yelling at the moon?” Adam asked.
“I imagine she’s casting a spell,” Carla explained. “Or hexing someone.”
“What?”
“Hey, you want the pie with ice cream?” Carla asked.
“Is there any other way?”
“Then go sit down and let me get it. Then I’ll fill you in on the Parker sisters,” Carla said.
When Carla arrived at Adam’s booth, she brought along a piece of pie and ice cream for herself, and one for Adam, along with a pot of coffee.
“I shouldn’t drink coffee this late,” Adam said after Carla set the plates on the table and began filling one cup that she had just flipped right side up.
“It’s decaf,” she told him before filling a second cup for herself.
“Good…I guess.” Adam hated decaf. “So what’s this about casting a spell?” Adam asked after Carla sat across from him at the booth.
“Like I said, she’s one of the Parker sisters, claims to be a witch. Surprised you don’t recognize her. Their store is down the street from your office.”
“Pagan Oils and More?” Adam asked.
“So you do know her?” Carla asked before taking a bite of her pie.
“No. I’ve seen the shop, but never the owners. I know there was an article about the business in the paper the other day. Mel told me about it. You think she’s casting some spell?”
“Looks like it to me,” Carla said with a shrug.
“More like a PR stunt. For her store,” Adam said.
“You’re probably right, but why pick a night when no one is around?” Carla asked.
“Have you seen her do this stuff before?” he asked.
“Yeah. One night she and her two sisters were sitting on the beach under the pier, with a dozen or more lit candles around them in a circle while chanting and holding hands. Real weird. Someone said they were casting a spell or something. When they came in later, I almost asked them about it, but figured I didn’t want to piss them off. Not saying they’re really witches or anything, or can cast spells, but why chance it?”
Adam chuckled. “You want to know what’s bizarre?”
“Something more bizarre than a witch casting a spell on the pier outside my work? What?”
“I rent a house to some sisters who claim they’re witches too.”
“That is crazy,” Carla said. “I don’t remember anyone in Frederickport ever claiming to be a witch before. There was that vampire a few years back, but no witches.”
Adam frowned. “Vampire?”
>
“Yeah, the guy who went bonkers over Twilight and got those fake fangs put in by that flaky dentist,” Carla reminded him.
Adam laughed. “Yeah, I forgot about him. But I seem to recall it wasn’t so much him wanting to be a vampire as trying to get the attention of all the girls into Twilight. I don’t think he ever drank blood or anything. I wonder what happened to him.”
“Someone told me they ran into him in Vancouver about a year ago. He’d had the fangs removed, and I think he was selling insurance,” Carla said.
“I suppose the current wave of witches will eventually go the way of the vampire.”
Seven
“At least I can have some wine this weekend,” Danielle grumbled to herself on Thursday morning. She stood at the mirror in the master bathroom while brushing her teeth. Just minutes earlier, after using the bathroom for the first time that morning, she discovered she was not pregnant. Not that she had expected to get pregnant right away. It had only been a couple of weeks since she went off birth control. But once a woman enters her thirties, she isn’t as confident in her fertility. In Danielle’s twenties, she had believed one unprotected encounter would lead to pregnancy.
She rinsed off her toothbrush and put it in the drawer. Wiping her mouth with a washcloth, she picked up her hairbrush and looked back into the mirror. Pausing a moment, she grabbed hold of one lock of hair and stretched it out a bit. Over two years had gone by since she’d woven her hair into a fishtail braid. It had been her trademark hairstyle back then until she had cut her hair into a short, perky style. But it had since grown out some, and while not as long as it had been when she had worn the braid, she thought it might be long enough to wear one again. It was August, and she always preferred wearing her hair up or in a braid during the summer. Releasing hold of the lock of hair, she opened one of the bathroom drawers and fished around for a hair tie.
“That’s the girl I first met,” Walt told Danielle when she walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later. He handed her a cup of coffee.